


A Second Chance

by Angleterre97



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: FrUK, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:05:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1599311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angleterre97/pseuds/Angleterre97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis never expected to see him again, but there he is. He's changed, but it's still him. And that means there's still a chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Second Chance

I hadn't seen him in years, not since the middle of senior year, when he had suddenly dropped out and soon after dissapeared. No search party was ever launched. He had left a note saying he was running away and his parents, apparently expecting this sort of thing from him, did nothing. They had said there was nothing they could do.

Now as I look across the street I can see him there, slouched against a brick wall at the mouth of a back alley. He looks so different from the proper English student I had know all through school. Whatever had brought him to this place had changed him. His hair was still messy, but a patch way dyed this and that color here and there. His flawless skin marred with piercings, the lips, nose, prominent eyebrows. His ears though had always been pierced, the same silver studs poking out as he had in school. His clothing was torn and tattered, whether it was the style or not I couldn't tell. Even the scowl he so often wore on his face had changed somehow. Deeper, more tired looking, yet on edge. I wasn't even totally sure it was him as I drew closer, crossing the deserted street and advancing upon him, but when he looked up I knew it was.

"Arthur?" I asked. He wore the same expression he had when I had met him for the first time, the same look he had whenever something startled or unnerved him. I know it had been quite along time, but I still knew that look. The look of a little rabbit, scared, lost perhaps. After a few moments I think he recognized me, for his look of fear melted into that of shock and then a glare, a glare I remember so well set upon his face. Yes, he had changed, but this was still the young man who had stolen my heart all the way back in the 10th grade.

He didn't respond, he didn't have to. I sat down next to him, the fact that my designer jeans might be ruined not even a glimmer of a thought in my mind. He wont look at me, and when I place my hand on his arm he tenses, and quickly leans away. I sigh, will he not even acknowledge my presence?

"It's been awhile, hasn't it?" I begin. I want him to talk to me. It takes a moment, his eyes darting about, anywhere but on me.

"Er...yeah, it has." It's nothing classy or intuitive, or snarky as I had half expected. But it made my heart beat just a little faster. I hadn't realized how much I had missed something as simple as just his voice. I want to ask him where he's been, why he left and what his plans were now...But I couldn't. Something strange inside me just wouldn't allow it. So I just talked. I don't know if he was listening or if he was interested at all, but he stayed. He stayed as I rambled about how everyone was, where they were going to college, town gossip. Nothing important really. He would nod occasionally, and at one point fished a pack of cigarettes and a thing of matches from the inside pocket of the worn leather coat he had on. My idle chatter trailed of and he looked over to me with a raised eyebrow.

"Want one?" He offered. I shook my head no. Arthur had always detested how is brothers smoked. The thought of it made me feel colder than I already was against the coming night.

"Where are you staying?" I asked. It was the only question of that nature that I felt somewhat comfortable asking. He turned his gaze to me, no longer agitated (From no longer taking me as a threat or the nicotine, I wasn't sure). His green eyes, just as bright as always glancing towards me. He shrugged.

"Wherever."

We stayed that way a while longer, me talking, occasionally asking a question and most times receiving an answer. This wasn't Arthur. No, I'm wrong. It is, because every now and then I would say something and there he would be, the old Arthur in his eyes. This was still Arthur, just...different. The thought didn't make me feel any less for him. Finally as night began to creep in I knew that I would have to go. He might have been accustomed to nights on the street, but I was not, and had no plans of becoming so.

"Are...are you going to be in town for long?" I ask, feeling dread at what the answer could be.

"I dunno. As long as I can until there isn't a place to stay." I bite my lip, and the words are out of my mouth before I even have a chance to process them.

"My home is always open for you, cher." I can see it in his eyes, the registering of the little endearment I use to call him. He's not looking at me now, but the ground instead. I sigh again, scratching at the back of my neck with one hand and biting the nail of my thumb on the other. That would always drive Arthur mad in school and as I look over I can see the irritation from it in his eyes. It makes me smirk and laugh just a bit under my breath as I stand and stretch and then offer my hand to him.

He looks at it skeptically, for quite a while, before he snubbs out his cigarette (His second one) and puts his and gently in mine. Gentle, not something I would have expected from a runaway, street-living youth. But it was, and I flashed him a smile I hoped was reassuring and received only the slightest upturn of the corner of his mouth. That was everything, because it was more than I had expected.

My car is parked a few blocks away, my home not incredibly far from there, and within 20 minutes I pull into the parking garage of my apartment building. As we climb the 3 flights of stairs to my floor I turn to see Arthur following closely at my side. His eyes look tired and I take his hand. This time he doesn't pull away from my contact and it makes my heart flutter. When we get to my door, I open it and he goes in first. It's dark until I too come in and switch on the light, revealing my small living space. Nothing grand, just a living room, kitchen, bathroom and bed room.

The first thing Arthur does if flop ungracefully onto the sofa. He does take his shoes off first though, showing me that years of...whatever he's been doing hasn't left him without his manners. I ask him if he wants something to eat and he grunts out something along the lines of 'Yes' or 'Sure' so I go into my small kitchen and quickly throw together something for him. Nothing fancy, grilled cheese and tomato soup. I place it on the coffee table when it is done, and upon smelling it Arthur sits up. He wears a smirk on his face as he takes his first bites.

"I haven't had this since I was probably sixteen." His smile falters for a moment and his eyes drop a bit. He finishes eating in silence. When I return from the kitchen after doing the few dishes that were used he is curled up on the sofa. A gleam catches my eyes from the side table, it's all of the rings and studs from his piercings. I walk over and lean down a bit to see his face without the jewelry and am surprised to see that he is crying. Not dramatic sobs or sniffles, just silent tears as they slowly run down his face. I gasp quietly but he must have heard it as he suddenly turns, a look of shock, embarrassment, and, there it was again, that fear in his eyes. He starts to stutter something, trying to glare but I shush him as I pick him up. He is much, much lighter than I had thought he would be, than I remembered.

Without a word, or surprisingly a struggle, I carried him the short distance to my bedroom and placed him on the sheets. He looked small, he looked tired, he looked like he hadn't been anywhere near a good place in a long time. I tossed him one of my nightshirts from my closet and he looked at it dumbly, so I walked over and began removing his jacket. He got the idea, but I continued until I was looking at his bare chest. He has a tattoo of a rose vine coming up his left side, with one striking bloom at the top.

It takes my breath away. It looks just like the design I had drawn on the envelope of the card I had given him for the last of his birthdays we had celebrated together, before he had left, before he had changed. I ran my fingers across it and he flinched, turning his head away. So I reached over and for the first time in far, far to long I kissed him, like I had kissed him before, but trying to convey so much more. I kissed him and touched him, and when I looked into his eyes I saw the Arthur I had missed so much. Not just a glimmer, he was there. I found in those eyes a silent approval, a desire, a need, and I continued kissing and touching and loving him.

Whatever it was that Arthur had been doing the past years to get by meant nothing to me. I wouldn't ask, because it was history, and a new chapter, a better one, was starting. Or at least I hoped. As he lays in my arms, asleep, I gently run my fingers through his hair. It must have been fate, I don't generally believe in such things, but in this case I'm sure of it. In a month's time I will be returning to my original home of Paris, and in the morning I am going to ask him to join me. A feeling in my gut say that he will accept, but maybe I'm just still riding an emotional high. Wrapping my arms tighter around his waist I kiss the top of his head and let out a breath I felt like I had been holding since the day he had disappeared. I had finally gotten a second chance at my first true love.


End file.
